


Mauvais Quart d'Heure

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 07:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13993941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: The success of Marinette's first book leads to an embarrassing moment in the middle of a bookstore. Afterwards, a familiar face consistently pops up in her life, and it somehow ends with her falling in love with bad jokes, callused fingers, and a dimpled smile. AU.





	Mauvais Quart d'Heure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novella12nite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novella12nite/gifts).



> For _novella12nite_. Hi, Alison! Thank you so much for requesting this. I hope it fits everything that you asked for (bookstore AU with recommendations/identity issues). I found that in most of these stories that it's from the employee's point of view where they didn't recognise a famous author? So, I tried to flip that the best I could. I hope it's not too bad, I was really stressing out since about halfway through that it was just really boring.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

It was when she was in a rush that she managed to trip over.

Marinette groaned, knees against the floor with her tights surely ripped due to the impact, taking in a deep breath before getting up. There was a twinge of pain, but nothing was sprained or broken. Taking a moment to get the dirt off of her clothing in an attempt to be presentable, wincing at the little droplets of blood that appeared on the revealed skin on her legs, she made sure her possessions were in good condition.

After smoothing her dark-coloured hair in the reflection of a shop window, she travelled through the busy streets, weaving her way through the crowds with her destination in mind.

With the different performers that were scattered throughout the large shopping area outside, on the cobbled stones and trying to draw attention to themselves, it wasn't a surprise to note that one was nearby the café she was stopping in. As she didn't have the time to stop and appreciate the music, Marinette slipped past the crowd watching a busker with a guitar, one who's voice was amplified well despite the piercing winter wind blowing every now and then, and slipped off her earmuffs and hood as she walked through the front door.

She spotted her friend immediately; Chloé's eyebrows were pinched together in displeasure as she looked down at her cell phone in her hand, seated at an empty table in the corner of the room.

Marinette had only just put her bag on the floor when Chloé spoke up, not even lifting her eyes from the device, “No, you don't.”

She sighed. “Fine, I'll go buy our drinks.”

“Good girl.”

It was a short queue. Marinette returned to the table, placing the tray between the two of them, even buying food to share. Between sips of her drink, nibbling on the food as her stomach churned from the nerves, she was too anxious to bring up the conversation first.

She was halfway through the drink when Chloé sighed. “You look like you're going to faint.”

“I might if you keep me waiting for any longer,” Marinette admitted, idly pushing the food around on her plate. “I'm trying to guess whether your version of good news actually means anything good for me.”

With a flair, Chloé pushed her long blonde hair over shoulder and raised her eyebrows. “Are you trying to say you don't trust me?”

She looked away and muttered,“The last time I said that, you made me cry.”

“Rejecting that company made you cry, not me,” the blonde corrected flippantly. “It's something you'll definitely be pleased with, believe me. You've wanted this for years.”

She blinked. “You got me a cat?”

The glare she received caused her to try and stifle a laugh.

“No,” Chloé denied, sounding utterly bored and as though the conversation was beneath her in a matter of seconds. “New versions of your books with the best-seller label on them are being shipped out in two weeks.”

Marinette swallowed audibly, cutlery falling from her hand. “Best-seller?” she questioned weakly.

“As of seven hours ago, you're officially labelled as one, yes.” Nodding, Chloé's hair fell back over her shoulder, almost draping onto the table from the length of it. “If you don't produce a sequel that's at least half as good as your first book, I'm legally allowed to maim you.”

Rather than respond to the harmless threat—one that she'd heard for years, although they'd actually hurt when they were awkward teenagers and disliking each other—Marinette leaned back in her seat, stumped from the sudden information. She knew that her book had been doing well, yes; reviews were posted all over the internet, and her publisher kept her up-to-date with the feedback she received from critics, regardless of if it was positive of not.

“That's—that's a lot to take in,” she stuttered, occupying her fidgeting hands by picking up her mug and cradling it carefully against her chest. “I-I just— _oh_.”

Chloé snorted. “Don't let the fame get to your head; you're only allowed limited time off before submitting the first draft of your next work. I have it on good authority that if it's not a sequel, your editor is going to throw a fit.”

When Marinette started writing her first book, it had been a hobby. She'd dabbled in stories over the years, even posting a few online without her name attached to them, and it was due to that that she gained the confidence to pursue her dream. A year or so later, with the support of steady pay from her two part-time jobs, she managed to hire herself a manager.

The manager came in the form of her most hated class-mate from her teenage years. Chloé had stood on her doorstep, staring flatly at her with the neutral expression that seemed particularly judgemental. Marinette had prepared herself for any retort or sarcastic remark, but all the blonde had said was, “Well, are we going to dawdle all day?”

Their relationship was rocky at first, especially when Chloé insisted on pursuing the best publishing houses rather than the new up-and-coming ones, preferring to snub those that had little to no reputation. They were both quick to temper when they were tired or stressed, and their senses of humour hadn't made sense to each other in the beginning. With their differences and butting heads, Marinette hadn't fully trusted the blonde-haired female until she'd followed her advice and declined the first publishing deal she'd received (although she'd sobbed in her room when she was alone, wallowing on the loss).

While she was a freshly dubbed best-selling author, that publishing house had already closed down.

“I'm already working on it,” she announced shyly, brining the mug to her lips and taking a long sip. When she looked up to see Chloé's eyebrows raised at her in a silent question, she added on, “The sequel, I mean. I was already working on it in hopes of it coming true in the first place.”

Chloé grinned. “I knew there was a brain in your head somewhere.”

After the usual bit of Chloé trying to persuade her to grant interviews, to be a guest on shows to get her name out more, where Marinette would only shudder and reject the offers, their conversation moved on from any professional topics. As they'd grown to actually like each other's personalities, it wasn't as awkward or tedious as it had been in the beginning. Chloé laughed at her jokes, and Marinette found the blonde amusing at times in return, even when it was a muttered comment underneath her breath.

“You're a disaster,” Chloé accused when she caught sight of the bloodied knees and ripped tights. “You're not even capable of dressing yourself are you?”

Raising her eyebrows, Marinette pointed out, “I don't think I could injure myself like this just from getting dressed.”

“We're going shopping right now.”

Putting her hat back on and placing her earmuffs around her neck, she quietly asked, “Can I go home and work on my actual job instead?”

Chloé made a displeased noise. “Absolutely not.”

The crowds for the performers were still there, meaning they had to weave through a load of people, a talent that Chloé seemed to have. Since she was tall—towering above Marinette by a head—and liked to wear high-heeled shoes that were audible on the floor, it was easy for strangers to spot her oncoming figure and move out of the way while Chloé kept her head upright and posture straight.

It was also amusing when Chloé sometimes reached out and grabbed onto her hand or wrist to drag her along, complaining that she took to long to move out of people's ways.

The shopping was relatively harmless to her bank account at that point. In the beginning, when the blonde-haired female had tutted and remarked that her attire would make it so higher-ups wouldn't take her seriously, she'd used a lot of her money when they went out together. Marinette obliged and changed into non-ruined trousers, the skirt and tights she'd been wearing folded and stored in the bag along with the rest of her purchases.

They parted ways after that when Marinette admitted that she wanted to buy gifts for everyone that worked with her at the publishing house, to which she received a dignified rolling of eyes as Chloé said, “Don't forget about me there.”

She bought the gifts after some consideration, going for food and drinks that she knew each person liked instead of expensive objects they wouldn't get any use out of. Marinette pushed up her earmuffs and took to the cold streets, hearing different music whichever way she turned.

On the way past the café she'd visited earlier, she was able to see the performer that had been there all day; sat on a stool—that clearly had been brought along—with the guitar propped on his knee, Marinette stayed for a few minutes before placing a few coins within the case and leaving.

It was exactly two weeks later that she returned to the shopping centre. Marinette found the most popular bookstore in hopes that they'd have what she was wanting, walking through the large front door and taking in the aisles and countless books that were displayed.

She'd seen her own book displayed before; singular, as she'd only had one published after Chloé had dismissed her other ideas, claiming that they wouldn't be as loved by the public. It was her pride and joy, and she'd absolutely sobbed the first time she held it in her hands, then again in front of others when she'd seen it displayed in the window.

An employee that was stocking the books caught her wide-eyed gaze as she looked over the different sections, clearly realising that she had no clue where to go. “Miss?”

She jumped. “Yes?”

“Do you want some help?” the male offered, tucking away the last book and turning towards her with a friendly smile. “You're looking a little lost there.”

“I—yes,” Marinette agreed with a grimace. “Can you tell me if I can find the newest edition of Bridgette Cheng's book here?”

The name had been a last minute change, one that she'd agreed to when it became clear that she wasn't interested in doing interviews. Marinette valued her private life and friends, enjoying the recognition that came from her name being due to her parents' highly-rated pâtisserie, one that they'd owned since she was a toddler.

A look of recognition came across his face as he pushed some of his blond strands from his forehead. “You're not the first person to ask that today.”

As she'd expected him to continue on to point out the direction, Marinette simply stared at him as she waited, only becoming aware of the awkward silence after a while. “Yes?” she prompted, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as she felt.

After a moment, he blinked. “Oh,” the employee started dumbly. “Right, sorry. It's—I think it's still in the back right now, actually. I can go see if anyone's put them out yet, if you want?”

“If it's not too much trouble,” she hesitantly replied.

She browsed the section she was standing in for a while, trying to stay in the same area where the employee had approached her for them to find her easily, and came across a shelf without much order to it. Each book within it had a note attached to the front; a short recommendation in handwriting, explaining why the book was good, signed by different employees.

A few of them she'd heard of—especially the ones from the publisher that she used—while others seemed to be less known gems. It was after some consideration that she chose two to buy, holding them both to her chest as she waited to see whether the blond-haired employee would return.

It was ten minutes later when he did. The friendly smile was in place and he was holding out the book to her as he said, “Here you go. Sorry it wasn't out already, we're pretty understaffed today.”

“It's fine,” Marinette assured him, smiling widely as she took in the text at the top of the cover that proclaimed the book to be a best-seller. As her eyes started to feel hot, causing her to have to blink rapidly in an attempt not to burst out sobbing in public again, Marinette realised how rude she was being by focusing on not crying. After clearing her throat, she said quietly, “Thank you.”

He sounded amused as he remarked, “I've only seen people cry towards the end of the book, not when they look at it.”

Her face felt warm as she raised a hand to swipe at her eyes, weakly defending herself with, “I'm not crying.”

“Yes, my bad,” the blond-haired male quipped, not sounding at all guilty for pointing it out. “I feel obliged to tell you that we only offer our toilets to paying customers, so if you want to wipe your not-tears in privacy, you'll definitely have to buy that book.”

“I'm just—” Marinette cut herself off to clear her throat, giving up on having any type of composure. “I'm going to buy this book, leave, and forget this ever happened, okay?”

Rather than waiting for him to reply, Marinette wandered off towards the queue. At home she placed the book on the mantle of her fireplace—one that was purely for decoration—smiling brightly for the new addition to her home. After a few days had passed, it was placed in a safer location in a bookshelf, though she was still overwhelmed from the success whenever a friend or family member who knew her job sent her a picture of their own purchase of it.

When she'd finished the books she bought, a whole two weeks after purchasing them due to the recommendations attached to them, she wrapped herself up in a large scarf and a knitted hat, ready to brave the cold streets again. Her hands were in the pockets of her coat as she walked, barely paying attention to the musicians that were littered across the streets. Usually, in the summer, the crowds were larger and packed for hours on end, just to watch the different performers that were granted permission to be there.

She might've nominated Chloé to be a volunteer for a magician once.

The shelf was stocked with different books, each with a a note on them that started to include the genres, making them seem more professional. After some consideration she bought two more, barely having to wait in the queue to pay, and it was as she started to walk towards the café she'd frequented with Chloé that she heard the sound of a guitar and singing, causing her to burrow her hands further into her coat, not wanting to imagine exposing her skin for hours on end.

After buying a warm drink, she collected her loose change, planning to drop of some money before leaving. The musician was perched on his little stool, guitar resting on his knee as he finished the last note of his performance and was greeted with cheers and applause for the performance. She'd only stuck around for a single song the last time, not wanting to stay out in the cold for too long.

As she dropped the money in his case, looking up to see the dimpled smile he was showing everyone, she thought that he looked somewhat familiar. She didn't frequent the shopping area often, though, and had only seen him for a few minutes the previous time.

Turning towards her to thank her for the donation, she watched as his grin grew as he exclaimed, “Oh, it's _you_!”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Marinette pointed at herself uncertainly.

“Would you like to request a song?” the male questioned, reaching up to push his fringe aside, the strands too short to stay tucked behind his ears. “It's the least I can do considering you've earned the title of Bridgette Cheng's biggest fan.”

The grip she had on her drink grew tighter. That was why she recognised him, then; the blond hair clicked, but the smile was more genuine and sincere than it had been in the store (most likely due to the setting; he wasn't stuffed in a generic uniform and attending to customers for hours on end).

“I'm sorry,” Marinette started slowly, trying her best to sound as confused as she'd been moments ago. “I think you have me confused with someone else—I don't know you.”

The smile on his lips only grew, causing the top of his cheeks to meet his eyes. The cold had caused pink to appear along his nose and the top of his cheekbones, the skin not protected by the hat that he was wearing.

“Oh,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I guess I'll just forget this ever happened.”

Marinette laughed as she gripped the drink with both hands. From the way that he was grinning at her, it seemed that he was finding it amusing, too. As she hadn't actually thought of any requests for songs—it was the first time that she'd been asked that when watching someone, actually—another member of the crowd surrounding him called out for his attention, prompting others to attempt to get their choices heard.

She stayed there for another song, until the chill on her cheeks was impossible to ignore any more and her drink was gone. Marinette dropped off some more coins in his case, returning the smile he directed at her shyly before setting out on her way.

In her eyes, anyone that stayed outside in the winter willingly deserved to be admired for their determination.

-x-

Her editor, a red-haired female by the name of Alya, was quick to correct any blunders and help her fix any mistakes she had in her plot. Marinette groaned and complained about it all along the way, a stark difference to their relationship when they'd first met. It hadn't been as rocky as with Chloé in the beginning, but Marinette knew that she was shy about her work. Therefore, when a brash and loud editor was assigned to her, she'd gulped and timidly nodded for the first few weeks.

Alya ended up taking her out for drinks to get to know her, in an attempt to get Marinette to be more comfortable. It worked, sort of; Marinette had appeared terribly hungover to a meeting at the publishing house the next morning, all the while Alya smirked beside her, answering any of the questions that she was too stuck on.

They were friends after that, but only when it was outside of work hours. When Alya hounded her for updates or the corrections to her story, she at least comfortable enough to retort her negative feelings for the red-head, knowing that Alya wouldn't be offended. Alya had been with her for over a year—Chloé for two—and she wondered whether it was sad that she considered the two of them her closest friends.

Alya liked to come over to her home, knocking loudly on the front door until there was a response (Marinette had turned off the bell after it had drove her mad while she was trying to write one time), and be her alarm in the mornings when she stayed up too late by being immersed in her ideas. The friendship was an easy-going one when they weren't working, and it was nice to know that she had someone to rely on, even outside of work activities. She was sure that if they'd met beforehand, they would've been friends.

With the basic plot of the sequel approved, Marinette managed to finish the two books she'd bought slower than before. The free time she'd had had been spent researching, trying to make sure that her ideas hadn't already been used and would therefore be terribly cliché, sometimes delving into films to see whether it had been done there. Chloé and Alya had joined her for watching a few of them to determine whether it was too similar, the two of them being her voices of reason the majority of the time.

When Marinette returned to the bookstore, the employee at the till was one that she recognised. The smile was polite as he glanced up and greeted her, accepting the books to scan.

“I see you're buying these due to the recommendations,” he mused, finger tapping against the note attached to one of the books. “If you come back, we'd love to hear whether they were helpful or not. There's a little box beside the shelf to put your feedback in.”

“What does the feedback do?” Marinette questioned, curious whether certain stories would be blacklisted if they received negative reviews.

He grinned, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he did so. “If it's bad, it'll go against the employee; too many means they'll be removed from selecting. We're trying to find out who's the best for it.”

Marinette eyes flickered down to the books. “Since I wasn't told this the previous time, I'm assuming that I picked up one of yours.”

There was no hesitation as he confirmed, “Absolutely.”

Although she'd picked the previous books on recommendations, she hadn't really paid attention to the names. It didn't help that he wasn't wearing a name-tag, something none of the employees of the store wore. She wondered whether the ones in the café upstairs wore them, as it was considered a separate shop from the bookstore, somewhere that she hadn't ventured thus far.

She'd hoped that he'd forgotten about her first appearance from the lack of mentioning it, only for that to be ruined when he passed over the bag to her and asked, “Am I allowed to remember you yet?”

She stared.

With a laugh, he shook his head. “Alas, you're still forgotten to the world.”

The grimace was clear on her face as she accepted the bag, holding the handle tightly. “Thank you.”

“I hope to see you again, mystery fan!” the male called as she started towards the door, ducking her head in embarrassment from the recognition.

The encounter was forgotten afterwards. Marinette woke up in the late morning, sometimes afternoon, finding it increasingly harder to make herself go to bed earlier when she was working. It was one of the reasons that Alya felt the need to call her and act as an alarm when they had to meet later that day, or even if she knew that Marinette had somewhere else to be.

Two weeks later, on a weekend after meeting one of her deadlines, Marinette reluctantly agreed to go out with friends. She pulled the hair at her crown into a ponytail, stepped into one of the dresses that Chloé insisted that she buy, and put on a small amount of make-up. It was a stark difference to the comfortable clothing she wore within her home, but not as professional as when she went to the publishing house.

The first words out of Chloé's lips when the blonde appeared to pick her up were, “Good, you're wearing that.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Am I supposed to preen under the praise?”

“If you're going to be sat in a dingy pub, you might as well look good doing it,” Chloé retorted, gesturing for Marinette to put on her seatbelt. “It makes the blue of your eyes stand out well.”

Obeying, Marinette muttered, “Great. They can see the lifelessness in them when I daydream about going to sleep.”

“I will put on the forbidden playlist,” Chloé sang, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “I even updated it with the latest songs you hate.”

She raised her hands in a sign of surrender. Marinette didn't agree to go out often, choosing to stay inside or visit her friend's homes instead, finding crowded places irritating due to the noise. She hadn't willingly gone to a nightclub since she was in university—and even then she'd pulled a face at the thought of going to one—so it was a compromise that her friends agreed to meet at a small pub between all of them.

The sign outside said that there was live music that night. She was thankful that there wasn't a quiz or karaoke, as she'd sat through far too many of them evenings and grimaced to herself.

Alya greeted her with a tight hug while the rest of their friends raised their hands and waved at her in greeting. The table they found was big enough for the lot of them, not having to steal chairs from others sitting near them, and Marinette chose to have a non-alcoholic drink when she went to the bar, ordering Chloé's cocktail as she did so.

Outside of the publishing company, Chloé, and her family members, her friends thought she was employed with a job that required her to work from home. From her bland and short answers to how work was going, sometimes only shrugging her shoulders and hoping they'd change the subject, the question wasn't asked too often. She wasn't bothered by it, though; she'd always been private about her writing (shy, too), and the thought of her friends telling her their opinions of her book to her face made her feel light-headed.

It was bad enough trying to picture signing events, let alone receiving the criticism from ones that she knew. Other than Chloé, Alya was the only one that made her feel comfortable enough to not want to burst into tears when her idea was considered shit.

The evening took a turn when the performer for that evening appeared in the cleared corner where a table usually was. A stool and microphone stand was there, and a tall male with neatly styled blond-coloured hair appeared, smiling widely as he made sure everything was in place, an acoustic guitar settled on his knees when he sat down, the sight a somewhat familiar one.

He introduced himself as Adrien, earning a few cheers from around the room. There was a group that was by the bar, making loud noises and enthusiastic gestures as they cheered him on, clearly acquainted with each other. Adrien's grin grew in return, waving in their direction before he cleared his throat and continued on to say that he'd be taking requests after his first song.

As the first song started, one that was slow at the beginning with his soft vocals, Alya remarked beside her, “He's good.”

Even though he had a roof over his head and wasn't busking, he still seemed like a natural. Adrien—it was nice to have a name to put to his face—was full of dimpled smiles and laughter between the songs, interacting with the patrons well and responding to the calls from his group of friends. When he asked for hands to be raised if they had a request, he picked them out randomly, answering honestly if he didn't know the songs.

After volunteering to buy a round of drinks for her friends, shooting down their worries that it might be too expensive to pay for it all by herself, Marinette was one of the ones to raise her hands.

When he pointed towards her, there wasn't anything in his expression that showed that he remembered her, but she recalled how indifferent he'd been when processing her order at the bookstore, only to surprise her at the end.

“I think I can manage that,” Adrien said to her request, nodding his head as he readjusted his guitar.

It was a nice rendition of it. He forgot the words a few times, but rather than be put off by that, he grinned and continued on as though nothing had happened, showing that he was capable of getting over his mistakes easily. She assumed that that was normal for his profession considering he performed constantly. She wondered whether it was hard to find places to perform that fit his schedule when he wasn't working at the bookstore, only for that trail of thought to be distracted by her friends talking to her.

The main interesting part of the evening was Alya flirting with a tanned male at the bar. When the red-head wandered back to their table, scooting in beside Marinette until their shoulders were touching as she leaned in close, she learned that Alya had walked away with his number and a promise of contacting him another time.

“I thought weren't interested in meeting someone in a bar,” Marinette recalled, furrowing her eyebrows. “I seem to remember you bemoaning your last break up because of the place where you met?”

Waving a hand dismissively, Alya replied, “Well, that was before Nino over there offered to go somewhere else with me without sounding sleazy.”

She snorted. “Did you even get his number?”

Alya pushed her glasses up and grinned. “Absolutely.”

Marinette chatted at least a few minutes with each person that she knew, catching up on their lives since the last time they'd seen each other. Chloé had grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the bar at one point when one male had been flirting with her too persistently, scolding Marinette when they were further away from not telling her that he'd be present.

“You're the one that dragged me out,” she pointed out, amused. “I wasn't even aware that almost everyone would be here.”

Narrowing her blue-coloured eyes, Chloé muttered, “Being innocent doesn't suit you.”

After the set was done, Nino and the rest of his group of friends helped Adrien put his equipment away. When they returned, Alya waved and beckoned them over, so it was with a glass clutched in her hand and in the middle of a conversation with Chloé that others joined them, bringing over chairs from other tables to be able to fit in comfortably.

The introductions weren't too awkward; most of Marinette's friends were either bubbly in their personalities or slightly tipsy—making up for how shy some were usually—and it was beyond obvious that Alya and Nino were interested in each other from how they were blatantly flirting, ignoring a lot of what was being said around them.

When Chloé excused herself to the bathroom, leaving Marinette to sip her drink and look at her phone rather than barge her way into other conversations, that was when Adrien took the spot that had been previously occupied.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling when she looked up curiously. “I'm not sure if you remember me—”

She quickly had the rest of her drink, audibly placing the glass down on the table.

His eyes widened in surprise, Adrien remarked, “Well, I guess that answers that.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she muttered, hands smoothing out the material of her dress needlessly. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

With a smirk, he offered out his hand in a greeting. “Yes, you, too,” he said, sounding far too amused.

It wasn't too bad after that, actually. Adrien was polite, didn't make fun of her any further than that, and when Chloé returned and wedged herself in the conversation, Marinette didn't feel as awkward any more. They were chatting casually, remarking on how well Alya and Nino were getting along at one point, and by the end of the evening, Marinette was actually smiling when they said good-bye to each other.

Adrien's parting words were, “If you're ever free, I've heard there's a bookstore that has some pretty great book recommendations. I think you'd like it.”

And, well, it wasn't as though he was wrong. Marinette ended up finishing the second book she'd purchased a week later, and since she'd kept the notes from her last purchase, she scribbled down her feedback on a piece of paper and put it into the pocket of her coat.

Rather than browsing the different sections, she went to the recommendation shelf immediately. She slipped her feedback into the little box that she hadn't noticed before, checking the different notes and seeing titles that she'd brushed over before, not interested in them.

When her eyes landed on her own book, her throat felt tight.

It was still surreal to her that she'd been published, let alone regarded as a best-seller. The interview requests that had been received were overwhelming, and the constant positive feedback for her book had caused her to sob from happiness more than enough times. She'd never thought that writing a book about superheroes could possibly appeal to almost all ages groups, and yet she was told multiple times in feedback from parents that even their children liked it.

“Back to the Cheng again, then?”

The voice startled her. Marinette dropped the book back onto the shelf, turning to look at the newcomer quickly.

Adrien's hair was neater than it had been at the pub, and the uniform fit him snugly. “Hello,” he offered, dimples showing as he smiled. “I was starting to think I scared you away.”

“I was just busy,” she replied, tucking stray hairs behind her ear. “Should you really be here right now?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you accusing me of slacking on the job?” And when she didn't reply, he exhaled audibly. “It's fine, I'm free for a few minutes. You walked in at a good time.”

“Oh.”

“If you're looking for books similar to that one,” he started, tilting his head towards where her hand had been previously, “I can probably help you out there.”

It was a tempting offer, so she took him up on it. It was always smart for her to look at similar books to her own—to know what to avoid—so they chatted for a few minutes, Adrien beckoning her along the aisles to direct her to the different ones he mentioned, trying to sell them for their plots.

When his summary was really flat for one, she narrowed her eyes in suspicion, turning the book over in her hands. “You haven't even read this one, have you?”

He didn't even look guilty as he grinned. “No. I just know it's one of Nino's favourites. I'm only aware of the big spoilers, but telling you them would just make you not buy it.”

She laughed. “You're great at your job.”

Taking the book from her hands and putting it back into the stack, Adrien said, “Tell that to my boss and I might get a raise.”

In the end, she left with only one book from the recommendation shelf and two from Adrien's suggestions. He'd confessed that he'd only read half of one since he only had time to during his breaks, urging her not to tell him any spoilers if she wandered back in before he'd managed to finish it. The conversation wasn't as stiff or awkward due to her embarrassment any more, and she found that his positive attitude was quite nice, even when he was trying to be professional.

“See you, Marinette,” he called from across the shop as she was leaving.

She waved.

-x-

With work obligations and tired nights staying up when she was feeling creative, Marinette was sluggish in the afternoons. When Alya called her to meet her outside for a meeting instead of coming to her home, she didn't bother to conceal the dark shadows underneath her eyes.

She arrived at the restaurant with her hair hastily braided, the end of it reaching the middle of her back, clad in an oversized t-shirt and tight jeans that had rips on the knees, the closest pair that she'd reached out for. As she walked through the entrance, she folded her jacket over arm, already feeling the heat from within the building. It wasn't strange to meet up for lunch; there was only so many times Alya could bring food over for her to eat, worried that she was wearing herself out, so she wasn't suspicious about that.

It was when she spotted Alya's red-coloured curls that she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Instead of being alone, two others were seated at the table, too wrapped up in conversation to notice her approaching.

With a sigh, Marinette took the seat beside Alya, tired eyes catching sight of Nino and Adrien who saved at her with a bemused expression.

“Hi?” Marinette questioned flatly, turning to look at her friend in an accusatory manner. “If this only a social call, I'm going home.”

Alya tutted, scooting over and wrapping an arm around Marinette's shoulder to pull her into a half-hearted embrace. “As I was saying, this is Marinette. She's usually a real charmer, but I kind of tricked her into coming since I knew she wouldn't say yes.”

Nino, with his short curly hair and spectacles, winced. “Sorry about this—I was just excited to meet one of Alya's friends again,” he offered, a polite smile on his lips. “If it helps, I dragged my buddy along, too. This is Adrien, by the way.”

Since Nino had started to point towards him, Adrien lightly shoved his hand away. “We've already met.”

At the inquisitive glances, Marinette elaborated, “At the pub. We met at the pub.”

Alya snorted. “I think just about everyone met Adrien there.”

The smile the blond-haired flashed her was filled with amusement. It turned out that Alya had considered herself a mastermind when she realised she could make Marinette have a break from her job and meet her new boyfriend at the same time. And since Nino didn't want her to feel too awkward, he'd invited his best friend along with the hope that they'd get along (the new couple had been too wrapped up in each other to see them talking beforehand at all).

It wasn't too awkward. Marinette yawned a lot into her hand, only replying when the conversation was directed at her. Adrien was able to ramble on and chat with Nino, explaining some of the tanned male's embarrassing moments from when they were growing up together.

When Alya and Nino started to too wrapped up in talking to each other—which she'd expected from the beginning, surprised that it had taken until their food arrived—Adrien didn't try to force her into conversation.

“This isn't a date, you know,” he said quietly as he fiddled with his cutlery.

She blinked. “I wasn't thinking it was one at all.”

“Oh.” His gaze flickered up to meet hers, his brow momentarily furrowed. “Right. That's good, then.”

After chewing her food for longer than necessary, Marinette asked, “How long have you been performing, then?”

When he was enthusiastic, he moved his free hand to emphasise his words. Adrien told her happily about how he found his first guitar when he was a young teenager, winced about the awful talent shows that he entered back when he was still trying to learn to sing properly, and it was clear to see—and even hear—that he was overjoyed whenever he spoke about it, even more so than when he was talking about books.

“All your work has definitely paid off,” she complimented, smile reaching her eyes. “You're really good, Adrien.”

He beamed, indents showing on his cheeks. “I'm glad you think so.”

Marinette found herself exchanging numbers with him in the end, not minding the thought of befriending him. Other than the teasing whenever he saw her, he hadn't actually put her off knowing him, especially not when he seemed so open and friendly. It was no wonder that he was able to work in customer service with the positive personality he possessed.

She pointedly ignored Alya when they left the restaurant.

Other than a few meetings at the publishing house, Marinette kept herself locked up in her house while she worked on her second book. Chloé had taken pity on her and bought groceries one of the times that she'd came over, looking stricken from seeing Marinette's choice in clothing—which had happened to be loose pyjamas that day, not even the pretty ones that Chloé had bought her before—which prompted the blonde-haired female to grumble that she wasn't paid enough for her caring.

The main difference was that other than her parents, Alya, and Chloé messaging her, there was another name mixed in there, too. Adrien had sent her a message a few hours after they'd met for lunch, tentatively asking whether she was enjoying the books that she'd purchased previously. She didn't have the heart to tell him immediately that she disliked the one she'd got from the shelf, though it did prompt her to scribble down her feedback on a note, ready to put it in the box the next time she went.

Although their conversations were dull at first, they eased up with each other. The punctuation grew lazy and sparse, spelling all over the place with autocorrect messing up their meanings most of the time, but Marinette actually started to enjoy herself.

Adrien told her about the amusing feedback that some of his customers submitted, about the mishaps of his co-workers when things went wrong, and never failed to cheer her up when she felt particularly sad and displeased with her work. Whenever she disappeared for a few hours—creativity having hit her hard—he didn't complain about it, only enthusiastically welcoming her back with multiple exclamation marks, spelling all over the place.

They told each other the small things; their ages, the type of music they liked, and even what pets they preferred. His ability to swap between topics easily, never put off by her half-hearted answers when she wasn't feeling too happy, was something that she admired greatly.

Within a few weeks, she considered him a friend. Their interactions were a lot more frequent than most of her other friends, so it was only natural for him to acquire the title in her eyes. When Alya or Chloé were there to see her cell phone's screen light up, the chiming indicating that she had a message, they raised their eyebrows, but neither of them didn't question her about it (she had a sneaking feeling that the two of them were in cahoots, however, as they spoke often).

It was almost a month later when she had time to go to the bookstore again, having finished the previous ones she bought. She'd spoken to Adrien beforehand to see when his shift was, just to see whether they'd get along in person as well as they had the past weeks. The first thing she did was approach the recommendation section, slipping her feedback into the little box. As he'd insisted, she'd thanked Adrien within the note, saying that he'd helped her out with her selection personally.

It sounded like he just really wanted a raise.

He was busy at the till, though. Marinette looked through the different notes, choosing only one to purchase that day, and waited in the queue. The amount of customers was higher than her previous visits, most likely due to the weekend, and she was lucky that she ended up at his till.

“Hello,” he started automatically, the smile turning genuine and reaching his green-coloured eyes as he looked up at her. “Marinette! I— _hi_. I didn't think you were coming in today.”

Reaching into her bag for her wallet, she answered quietly, “I did say I'd be a bit late.”

The main difference between them—other than their appearance, as he most definitely didn't have monolidded eyes—was that while she stayed up late and got out of bed near noon due to Alya's helpfulness, Adrien was a morning person. His job required for him to be up early, and he had no qualms about being awake at the crack of dawn even on his days off.

The first morning when he'd woken her up accidentally before it was even nine o'clock had caused her to bluntly tell him to leave her alone for a couple of hours. When she'd woken up properly, seen her misspellings and rudeness, she'd profusely apologised and tried to explain herself—she was just thankful that he'd found it amusing afterwards, though he had wondered what he'd done at first. Although Adrien had offered to be her alarm instead of Alya, it felt too awkward, as they didn't know each other too well.

“A _bit_?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows. “My shift's almost over and you're only just here.”

“At least I made it while you're still working,” she muttered, handing over the right amount of money.

Adrien laughed, the sound honest and a bit too loud. “Do you have anything else to do today?”

Other than stress about the plot in her head, especially the changes that Alya had suggested, she didn't, so she shook her head.

“Okay, good.” He grinned, showing his teeth as his eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. “If you want to wait around for half an hour, we could go get some coffee? Together?”

Well, he definitely didn't seem uncomfortable with her. Marinette nodded, sure that her surprise was clear on her face. Instead of hovering around for thirty minutes, she tucked the book she'd purchased into her bag, browsing the different aisles and seeing the different genres, even venturing up the stairs to where she knew the café was located. Although she didn't go inside, she saw figurines, posters, and an assortment of other items sold on one side of the room, while the other was filled with comics and other books meant for children.

She had a brief look at some of them, wrinkling her nose when the plots took a predictable twist, remembering how she'd been asked to go with a more generic story for her book in the beginning. It had taken a lot of convincing for them to give her the freedom that she wanted—which had resulted in her spending a lot of time pitching the ideas to Alya, passionately trying to make her understand—but it was all worth it in the end.

She blinked rapidly to get rid of the warmth that had appeared, willing herself not to cry again. It was perfectly understandable for her to be overwhelmed from the success, but she didn't want to do it in public again after the last time.

When Adrien appeared a few minutes after, she wasn't crying any more. Marinette smiled shyly and asked where they were going, and it was with a start that she'd realised that he'd slipped a sweater over his uniform, trying to hide that it was his work outfit.

Adrien didn't have to try to convince her to go to another café away from his co-workers. They ended up in the one where she'd met with Chloé a few months ago, one which Marinette was more acquainted with than the other stores on the street.

After getting their orders, they sat at a table in the middle of the room, the first one that was open. Marinette cradled the mug in her hands for warmth, eyes staring at the foam rather than the male sitting across from her, and she was quite sure why she was suddenly feeling so nervous. They knew each other better than they had before; it was just weird to know that since the last time they'd met, she knew a lot of the details of his life, and that he knew about hers, too.

“So,” Adrien started, drawing out the vowel.

She swallowed. “So.”

Fiddling with the handle on his mug, but leaving it on the tray between them, Adrien reached up with his free hand and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. “This is awkward,” he said bluntly, exhaling audibly. “Right?”

A smile blossomed on her lips. “Absolutely,” she agreed, not as quiet as she'd thought she'd be. “I don't really know why.”

“It shouldn't be,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe it's because I know about your atrocious sleeping pattern now.”

Marinette snorted. “That's not as bad as finding me crying over a book.”

A laugh escaped him. “I almost forgot about that!” Adrien exclaimed, grin reaching his bright eyes. “Thanks for reminding me. You're so kind, Marinette.”

Resisting the urge to groan, she settled with narrowing her eyes. “You're just saying that, aren't you?”

He tried to look innocent.

She laughed, relaxing against the chair and losing any tension that had been there. It was only natural that she'd be nervous at first, she supposed, worried that their friendship wouldn't translate well in person. As they started to talk about random topics, even chattering about the book Marinette had bought—she shouldn't have trusted one of his notes if he was willing to give her spoilers—she had an easy smile on her lips for the whole time.

When he offered to buy her another coffee, Marinette quickly shook her head and insisted that it was her treat to buy for the two of them, even getting some food, too.

“I have a confession to make,” Adrien quipped around a mouthful, not looking up from the plate as he did so. “It might be a bit awkward? Maybe?”

She swallowed. “It can't be any worse than some of your jokes.”

“Rude.” He sniffed, though he sounded perkier than he did a moment ago. “Okay, right. We met while I was working, right?”

Nodding, she had another mouthful of food, feeling that it wasn't necessary to verbally reply as he'd lifted his eyes up to look at her after the half-hearted insult.

“It was awkward as fuck, definitely,” he continued bluntly, restraining his laughter when he saw her wince in an exaggerated way. “I didn't think I'd see you again, but you just kept popping up when I was performing and even coming back to the shop? I honestly just wanted to befriend you.”

She blinked. “Well, we're friends now, aren't we?”

“Yes, but—I mean,” Adrien fumbled for the right words, furrowing his eyebrows as he let out a small sigh, putting down his cutlery. “I'm going to sound like a complete dick if I say it aloud.”

With a laugh, Marinette tried to assure him, “I won't be offended.”

Averting his eyes and running a hand through his hair, a nervous tick that she hadn't paid too much attention to, the blond mumbled, “It's like pity sex, but with friendship.”

It should've made her a little bit offended—despite her reassurance before—but all Marinette could do was laugh at the absurd sentence, the amusement increasing from his embarrassed expression. Marinette laughed until her face felt warm, smiling widely when she'd finished, the grin reaching her eyes as she took in the redness of his cheeks. It was sweet that he'd admitted it to her, as he could've never told her and kept it to himself.

“I can't say I've heard that before,” Marinette announced, still amused as he looked shocked at her. “Thanks for telling me, I guess?”

He blinked. “You're—you're not mad?”

If they hadn't been talking for weeks, she would've been. “No,” she said quietly, shrugging with one shoulder. “If it was still a pity thing, I don't think you would've lasted this long, especially if my personality sucked.”

“I literally sat beside you in the pub because I felt sorry for you,” he deadpanned.

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head quizzically. “I was beside my friends.”

The only way to describe his expression was incredulous. “You were looking at your phone and ignoring them.”

“That's—” Marinette started, cutting herself off with a laugh. She put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile as she said, “That's pretty cute of you, actually.”

Adrien visibly struggled for words for a bit, mouth opening but none coming out, before he eventually asked, “Is being adorable a coping mechanism for you?”

She squinted. “Are you pity flirting with me?”

With a distressed noise, he buried his face in his hands, clearly embarrassed. Instead of feeling remorse for causing him to react like that, Marinette reached across the table, standing up briefly to pat his head a few times before she sat down again.

“If you told me this before we started talking daily, I would've been upset,” the dark-haired female admitted as she got comfortable again, reaching out and cradling the lukewarm mug in her hands. “I know better now—I know you.”

When he dropped his hands from his face, there was still redness across his cheeks. She noticed that the top of his ears had coloured, too, an endearing feature that she didn't see often.

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Well, we've been talking non-stop whenever we're not working or sleeping,” Marinette pointed out, putting her elbows on the table. “I'm pretty sure I can recite your last three meals with good accuracy. That's not really something you'd tell me out of pity, is it?”

His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked at her. “How are you taking this so well?”

It was nice to have a new friend, that was all. Even if it hadn't been truly genuine in the beginning, they were getting along well despite that; Adrien constantly made her smile with his bright attitude, the playful remarks he made throughout the way, and the fact that they were able to be comfortable with each other after the initial awkwardness was that hadn't happened with a lot of people that she spoke to purely through messages in the past.

So, she just shrugged. “It's not like you were plotting to kill me or something.”

“I was a dick,” Adrien retorted.

“It's a good thing that I'm heterosexual, then,” she quipped, lips curling into a smile, the comment one she wouldn't have made unless they were actually friends.

He gawked at her.

Her grin widened. “Are you always this coherent?”

For a moment, Adrien only stared at her before he shook his head quickly. “No, I—I was honestly just expecting you to tell me to fuck off.”

Trying to school her expression and keep a straight face, she answered quietly, “Sorry for not meeting your expectations.”

Adrien burst out in laughter, running a hand through his hair before it fell onto his lap. “This is a complete one-eighty from my first impression of you,” he announced, looking at her with a smile that met his eyes. “I'm sorry for my bad intentions.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “They were good in your own kinda way.”

“I guess I'm just lucky that you're nice.”

Taking a sip from her mug, Marinette bluntly replied, “If I wasn't, I wouldn't have answered any of your messages.”

His laugh was loud and honest.

-x-

After the time they went to the café, they started to call each other regularly. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable; Marinette answered when her eyes were tired, putting it on loudspeaker as she continued to lazily type away, finding it easier to communicate that way than via messaging. As that became a normal part of their friendship, they started to talk with instant messaging, using their microphones instead of cell phones—he did bemoan her lack of webcam, something that Marinette had cackled at, amused that he'd been so excited to see her dressed in her casual clothing that she wore around her house.

Adrien sent her pictures and told her whenever he was busking, even sending ones with exaggerated facial expressions when he was on his break from work. Marinette awkwardly returned them, usually just leaning back in her chair after trying to make her hair at least a bit tamed. It didn't seem to matter to him whether they were poor quality or not; she always received a message with a lot of exclamation marks or emojis regardless.

As he was able to cheer her up when she was in a rut, their newfound friendship didn't damage her job. Marinette was still nervous whenever Alya overlooked her work, especially when the glasses were pushed up silently, a foreboding action that always made Marinette shift awkwardly, but the large majority of her writing was accepted. The edits that were requested were minimal, a lot less than the first book, and she sometimes had to force herself to stop when it was too late in the evening, eyes starting to hurt from the dim light of her lamp.

Somehow, Alya's habit of waking her up had shifted over to Adrien when she'd replied to her red-haired friend instantly one too many times saying that she was already up. It wasn't as though she'd asked him to do it; if Marinette mentioned that she needed to go to a meeting at a certain time, he always made sure to send her a good luck message that happened to act as one that woke her up. And even if he wasn't at work, he either sent her a message to wish her a good morning or a picture of him, smiling happily at the camera, dimples on display.

She felt guilty whenever she had to say that she couldn't make it to see him play. Adrien often played from the morning to the afternoon when he wasn't working, times that were too inconvenient for her to go outside.

When he'd asked her for song recommendations to add to his set, she'd choked up from realising that his ask for help was genuine. So, it became natural for the two of them to mention songs in passing, even for him to try and reach the notes whenever they were talking, just throwing it in the middle of their conversation as though it was perfectly natural.

It wasn't similar to any friendship she had with anyone else, but she liked it. Although they didn't see each other in person often, Marinette made an effort for it after he'd learned one of her favourite songs with the intention of using it that day, reluctantly getting out of bed and dressing in a matter of minutes.

Adrien had sent her a picture after he'd finished setting up, and she used the sign that was in the background to find the spot. It was nearby the café where he preferred to perform, though he was sometimes too late to take the spot and had to venture further, so his music wouldn't be drowned out by anyone else's.

Before she turned the corner, she could already hear his voice. It wasn't a song she recognised from the original, but only due to him singing a few lines every now and then when she was too busy to respond or had walked away for a while, leaving him to his own devices. Marinette kept a hand on the strap of her bag as she peered around the crowd, trying to get a clear view of him.

As always, he had his trusty stool with him. Marinette had jokingly asked whether he'd named it before and he'd cackled, said no and then asked for suggestions. She'd refused to give him any—to his despair—but she knew that the stool had been a present from his parents when he was learning guitar when he was younger, something that he'd kept throughout the years.

She fished out money from her bag, walking forward to put it into the case when the telltale sounds of one of her favourite songs started, the wide grin across her lips mirrored by him when he caught sight of her. Waving shyly, she backed away after the tip was deposited, eventually taking out her phone to take pictures of him.

She sent the good ones to Alya and Chloé, telling them that they were missing out.

After a few songs had passed, with him talking to the crowd between all of them, thanking everyone profusely for their support as he self-consciously touched the nape of his neck, Marinette ducked out into a nearby store, buying him a bottle of water and something warm for herself.

She didn't stay for the whole set, but the way that he kept glancing over to her with a widening smile was more than worth it. Marinette stayed until her feet were uncomfortable from standing still for too long, not at all bothered by the summer weather that had appeared, though she understood why he wore a hat that day and pushed up the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Afterwards, when she'd been home for a few hours and had successfully changed into comfier clothes after showering, Adrien called her. He was hyperactive, enthusiastic, and oozing happiness as he thanked her for coming, saying that it was a wonderful surprise to see her there at all. Then, he continued on to say that she really didn't have to give him any money or even buy drinks, but she'd hushed him by saying that she wanted to do it, not that she felt obligated.

“Let me take care of you in my own way, okay?” Marinette mumbled, embarrassed as she turned erratically in her chair. “I don't get to see you that often.”

He laughed. “That's because you don't come into my work.”

“I still haven't finished the last book I bought—I'm too busy.”

“Well,” Adrien started softly. “Thank you for coming to see me today, busy girl.”

She swallowed. “I—yeah. It was nice to see you.”

And with that said, she dropped by twice throughout the week—once when Alya had insisted on the two of them eating out for lunch, and the other when she was on the way to show her progress with her book, rather than having Alya looking over it at her home. Although she didn't tip him—since he'd said it embarrassed him due to them actually knowing each other—she still bought healthy drinks and settled them down beside the case with a smile.

Each time after he'd finished, he sent her multiple messaging thanking her for coming at all, along with pictures of the empty plastic bottles lined up on his desk at home.

She'd laughed and replied that he shouldn't try and collect them all.

The following weeks, she tried to by at least once, whenever he was perched on that silly little stool on the street, just to show her support. She didn't see many of his friends there, though she supposed that they were more likely to appear when he performed indoors, especially if it was some kind of event with alcohol involved.

He didn't push her to tell him everything about her life; from what Adrien knew, she was busy working from home, reluctant to go out most of the time, and completely different to the first impression that he'd had of her. The jokes about being Bridgette Cheng's fan didn't appear often, only brought up every now and then when he mentioned the amount of copies that were sold from their store, and each time she grew somewhat quiet, still dumbfounded that she was doing as successful as she was.

When Adrien called her with his enthusiasm clear without the first few words, she found out that the pub that they'd been to previously had asked him to perform again. It was because another musician dropped out—but that didn't matter to him, as the opportunity was one that had him happy and excited.

Chloé couldn't make it that time. Alya told her that Nino insisted that the two of them could sit with the rest of their friends—to converse more than they had the previous time—and Marinette had no qualms about that. She'd been considering going alone until Alya had asked whether she wanted to attend (before Alya realised that Adrien would've told her already).

So, it was in a knee-length dress that she settled down in one of the empty seats. Alya and Nino weren't due to arrive for a few minutes, meaning she had time to write supportive messages to Adrien while waiting to see where he was.

She'd just wrote the second message when the seat beside her was occupied with a soft, “Hey.”

She didn't jump, thankfully. Marinette looked up from her phone, a smile blossoming as she realised who it was sat beside her, and she automatically reacted by wrapping her arms around his middle loosely in an embrace.

Adrien stiffened.

“Oh, I—” Marinette cut herself off, pulling back sheepishly as she kept her hands to herself. “Was that too much?”

“No, no,” he said quickly, running his hand through his hair, making the strands messier than usual. “I just—I was surprised, that's all. I didn't know we're at the hugging stage yet.”

She tried not to laugh, really, but it still came out. Marinette put a hand over her mouth, just as embarrassed as he seemed to be. “I didn't know we have stages to our friendship,” she mumbled after a few moments had passed with the two of them just staring at each other, equally as unsure of what to do. “I'm just happy to see you.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, looking bashful. “Me, too. It means a lot that you're here.”

“Well, this is pretty big, isn't it?” she answered, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. “I wouldn't miss it.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of their friends—who called out to them loudly, waving their arms happily—and it was half an hour later that Adrien took his place on his stool, adjusting the microphone so it was on level with him. A few more people turned up, those that she'd seen at his last performance but hadn't paid attention to, and they seemed to know who she was when she said her name. There was a flicker of recognition there—along with large grins and knowing looks with each other—and all that caused her to do was raise her eyebrows in bemusement and sip her drink, choosing not to insert her into the ongoing conversation.

Adrien was filled with smiles as he performed, taking a few requests as he went along. One of the bartenders kept bringing him over a glass of water, so she didn't have to get up to order him anything as she'd been intending to do, so she enjoyed the music instead.

He looked pointedly at her when he played her favourite song, soft voice audible over the chatter within the room.

As she'd stuck to non-alcoholic drinks, she wasn't tipsy when he was finished, not like some of his friends. The cheers from them, and some of the patrons that didn't know Adrien before that evening, were loud, the applause sounding louder than the ones he received on the street at times.

After some of his friends had helped him put the equipment away in his car, he was still full of smiles as he entered the pub again. When he started to approach her, she waved shyly in greeting, still perched on the seat despite how she wanted to meet him halfway.

“Hey,” Adrien said quietly, voice rougher than usual due to the constant use the past hour. “Can I get that hug now?”

A breath of amusement left her. “Of course,” she replied softly, smile reaching her eyes as she stood up.

Much like before, due to the height difference, she wrapped her arms around his middle. As she came up to his shoulders when they were standing beside each other, it wasn't too awkward; she didn't have to worry about hitting his face with her head accidentally. Adrien returned the action immediately, arms loosely wrapped around her.

“You did amazing up there,” she murmured, barely audible over the music that had started to play from the speakers again. “Really, you did.”

He quipped, “You're just trying to get on my good side.”

“I'm already there,” she denied haughtily. “You can't revoke me because I'm not your drink supplier any more.”

She could feel it as he laughed. “Are you getting territorial now?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled into his chest, resting her cheek against his shirt. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Adrien answered quickly, sounding amused. “Will it make you feel better if I let you buy me a drink?”

Considering how flustered he got whenever she willingly spent money on him, it was a nice offer. Leaning back so she could peer up at him to see whether he was serious, Marinette wasn't shocked to see the smile on his lips or the kind expression; she'd wondered whether it was him bottling up his negative emotions before, but he seemed to be a ball of happiness and enthusiasm whenever they rarely saw each other.

It happened quickly. From simply looking up at him—arms still loosely wrapped around each other—it evolved into his lips softly pressing against hers. It wasn't hard or demanding; it was as shy and flustered as he usually was when he was nervous, a warm presence that wasn't there before. Marinette had stiffened from surprise, not even closing her eyes in the small amount of time, and as soon as he realised her reaction, he pulled away.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly, no longer embracing her, though they were still standing close. “I—that was pretty rude of me, wasn't it?”

She swallowed. “No, I—”

“I shouldn't have done that without your consent,” Adrien interjected, facial features twisting into a slight grimace, showing how guilty he felt. “I-I didn't mean to do that.”

It had mostly been from shock that she hadn't reacted quickly. She hadn't toyed with the thought of pursuing a further relationship with him simply because she'd thought that he wouldn't be interested, and that it would've been hard to see each other often due to how rarely they met up as friends.

She wetted her lips. “I'd be all for it if we actually went on a date.”

The guilt was replaced by surprise on his expression. “What?”

Hoping she looked more confident that she felt with her heartbeat picking up, Marinette asked with a shy smile, “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“I—really?” Adrien spluttered, voice louder than necessary, causing him to wince. “Even after I just did that?”

“Well,” she started, holding back a laugh. “It was definitely a good way to make me realise you're interested.”

-x-

Their first date was just before her birthday. As it was towards the end of summer, the sun was sweltering and suffocating, meaning that when they started to walk through the streets of a town that they'd taken a train to reach, they kept ducking into random shops for shade. Marinette was regretting her choice of clothing immediately, not fond of the shorts and t-shirt combination that she'd thrown on at the last minute.

At least she wasn't as bad as Adrien—he'd made the mistake of wearing a long-sleeved shirt to act as a jacket, immediately regretting it and tying it around his waist, which only caused him to accidentally knock things over when he turned around too fast.

It was nice to be with him, even though they couldn't hold hands for longer than few minutes before discreetly wiping their palms on their clothing. Her cheeks hurt from smiling too much, laughter coming out breathless and almost covered by her wheezing at times, and when she turned to look at him to see the fond look when he was glancing her way—the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he _smiled—_ she had to wonder whether she'd ever be able to accurately write romance to how she was feeling at that moment.

They went into different stores, looking at the tiny trinkets and clothing, even entering somewhere to see whether figurines for a game they discovered they both appreciated were out, and she was struck with the thought that she wasn't nervous. Sure, there was a difference to her heartbeat whenever their hands brushed or he came closer to her, but it wasn't from the nerves—it was thrilling, actually, and she couldn't say whether she'd felt that way for years.

From the dates that had never amounted to much in the past, to the juvenile relationships she'd had, most of them had been packed full of nerves and expectations, but she didn't have any of that with him. She knew Adrien; how he sounded in the morning, what he liked to do in his spare time, even his favourite song. She probably knew more about him in the past few months than her other friends, and he knew that about her, too.

So, when he saw one of the books that she'd been intending to buy—from having mentioned in the passing when she'd seen the reviews online—he took her warm hand and gently guided her towards the bookstore, already insisting that he'd be the one to buy it for her.

“You don't have to,” she spluttered as they searched through the aisles, looking to see whether there was a hardback version. “Adrien—”

He interrupted her by lifting it up with a victorious smile.

“I want to,” the blond-haired male insisted, dropping her hand as he inspected the cover, turning it over to make sure it was in good condition. “Besides, it's only fair that I get to buy stuff for you, isn't it?”

She breathed out audibly. “I'm not buying you drinks because I'm wanting something in return.”

“Exactly.” He looked up to meet her gaze, smiling. “You're just looking out for my voice, aren't you? I like that you're genuine.”

Marinette decided to look away shyly, skimming over the titles of the books instead. If he was amused by this, he didn't show it, and instead indulged her by pointing out the ones that had been requested from customers for him to find in the past week, even remembering when someone had complained to them about the plot and demanded a refund (despite the crinkles in the spine that showed that they'd made it towards the end).

After they'd discussed a few that they'd both read in the past, Marinette honestly asked, “You actually like working this kind of job, don't you?”

“Yes?” It sounded like a question at first, and his eyebrows were furrowed when she peered up at him. “Why would you think otherwise? I know I might complain about the stuff that happens sometimes, but it could always be worse.”

“You're just—you're pretty passionate about books, you know?” she stuttered, gesturing lamely to the little stack he had in his arms (that he refused to let her carry). “It's nice to see, honestly. There's probably countless employees that aren't even interested in them.”

He hummed in contemplation. “I guess?” Adrien started, sounding thoughtful. “I mean, there's not much to do when there's barely any customers in the morning. My boss is pretty lenient and lets us read behind the counter until we're needed. It would be completely different if I tried to listen to music or learn another song.”

“It's nice,” Marinette repeated, fondness clear in her voice. “It—it suits you.”

With a laugh, the blond replied, “Well, that's good. I'm glad I suit myself.”

If he didn't have books in his arms, she would've hit him lightly. “No need to tease me.”

“You call that teasing?” he questioned, amused. “If I wanted to make you all flustered, I could just mention your favourite author—”

She retorted quickly, “I never said she's my favourite!”

“See? You know who I'm talking about immediately.” With a wink—that was exaggerated and hilarious all at once, rather than the seductive move that she usually wrote about—he bumped his arm against hers gently. “I'm not going to judge you for your obsessions; I think it's nice that you care that much about something.”

As much as she wanted to bury her face in her hands from embarrassment, she didn't. Marinette chose to instead narrow her blue-coloured eyes up at him, crossing her arms. “Nice enough for pity friendship,” she muttered. “Right?”

He gawked. “It's _genuine_ now!”

With an exaggerated gasp, she placed a hand on her cheek. “This is only friendship to you?”

“Marinette—”

Laughter burst from her lips from how guilty he looked. Marinette didn't even try to shuffle the sound, and after a few moments of her just laughing with him staring at her, he broke out into a smile that showed the indents of his cheeks.

“You're teasing me, aren't you?” he concluded softly.

She tried to look innocent as she shrugged half-heartedly.

“You're ridiculous,” Adrien murmured, taking a step towards her. He leaned down and pressed a kiss on top of her fringe; light but enough for her to feel it, the movement affectionate enough for her to feel heat appearing on her face. “But I guess I like that about you.”

Rather than staying close and show public affection further, Adrien's grin was wide as he moved back, putting a few steps difference between them. She stared up at him, bewildered, and that seemed to only cause him to smile more, the corner of his eyes crinkled as he continued to look at her.

She swallowed.

His voice shook with restrained laughter as he asked, “That was better than kissing you without permission, wasn't it?”

A frustrated noise escaped her. “I'm going to combust if you keep surprising me.”

“Are you not fond of surprises?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side quizzically.

She reached up to smooth her fringe where his lips had been. “That's besides the point,” she mumbled, feeling shy. “You're just—you're a lot more affectionate than I thought you would be.”

“I'm just comfortable with you,” Adrien admitted honestly. “Do you want me to tone it down? I can, if it's something you're not okay with.”

After shaking her head and saying it was fine, Adrien asked for her reasons for preferring hardback covers, and even books instead of the other alternatives. Marinette had thought about her answer at first; sure, she'd always been the type of person to slowly add to her book collection that had turned into shelves worth by the time she'd left her teens and was earning money for herself, but there was other reasons for it.

“I just prefer books, I think,” she mused, running her fingers along the spine of one of the books that she'd finally managed to snag off of him. “They just—they feel real, I guess?” Pausing for a moment, Marinette smiled to herself. “That probably sounds silly.”

“I can understand that,” Adrien murmured, nodding along in agreement.

That was reassuring, knowing that she wasn't making a fool of herself. “It's just nice to actually turn a page with your fingers?” It came out sounding like a question. “Even if it turns into a cut one percent of the time, I don't regret it,” Marinette mused, finding the words easier to grasp as she continued. “Plus, it's a lot harder to sit in awkward positions and read from screens.”

Rather than being put off by the tangent she'd went off on, he was looking down at her fondly. “So, it's not because of the company you can find in book-stores?”

“Not all employees are as interesting as you, sadly,” Marinette replied, trying not to smile. “Don't let that go to your head, though.”

He snorted. “Yes, we can't have you complimenting me while we're on a date.”

“It would be the end of the world,” she readily agreed, taking the opportunity to steal a few other books from his stack, already running off towards the till before he could protest.

If he was offended that she'd paid for over half of them, he didn't say anything.

They stayed out until it was the evening. After having dinner at a brightly-coloured diner, they sat beside each other on the train. Adrien started to shyly hold her hand after the first stop, the other one busy scrolling through posts on his phone that he was showing her whenever he found something amusing to look at, and the sound of chatter around them filled any of the silence.

When they got to where they had to separate, Marinette gently intertwined their fingers, putting her weight on her toes as she raised herself the closest to his height. The smile that appeared on his face when he realised what she was doing was sweet and fond all at once, and he readily leaned down to meet her halfway, making it so her neck didn't hurt when his lips softly pressed against hers.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, something that she couldn't do comfortably when they were standing normally, sure that he was able to feel her smile as they slowly kissed. It was soft, hesitant, and better than she'd imagined; sure, her heart was fluttering nervously, but she knew that even if she messed up and accidentally hit her teeth against his, he wouldn't be mad about it.

It wasn't filled with sexual energy or expectations for anything more—Adrien was the one that pulled back first, gazing down at her so close that she could see the blond at the end of his eyelashes, before he placed one more chaste kiss to her lips.

She licked her lips as they pulled apart, tucking a few stray strands behind her ears.

As he cleared his throat, straightening out his shirt as though it was perfectly normal, she had to hold back from laughing at the redness that had appeared on his cheeks, making him look embarrassed and shy, an endearing mix that she didn't mind on him.

“Thank you for today,” she murmured, smile reaching her eyes.

He cleared his throat again. “I—yes.”

When they finally managed to start to part ways, her name was called out loudly when she'd barely walked halfway down the street. Marinette looked over to see him waving his hands and trying to catch her attention, the plastic bag in his hands standing out as he pointed down at it when he'd realised that she was looking. She sheepishly accepted it, laughing at her mistake when he made a playfully reprimanding sound at her, their hands touching for longer than necessary as it was passed over.

-x-

With the upcoming deadline for her second book approaching, Adrien had to ask whether she was sleeping well when he saw the dark colour of her skin beneath her eyes. Marinette dodged the question at first, feeling a bit guilty when he looked at her with worry, before she gave in and admitted that it was important work that she was occupied with doing.

From spending time with him, a nagging feeling had made her realise that she'd made errors in trying to write romance; she'd focused too much on the nervous feelings and fantasies, having thought it was too mature-sounding in the past and toned it down for the younger audience that she'd found out was interested in her works. As the first book hadn't been focused on romantic relationships—instead the friendships between the characters, even the antagonistic ones that had larger roles in the future—she'd been horribly worried about the development.

She'd seen posts online of fans theorising where the plot would go—sometimes they'd get a small percent of it right, and then in other cases, she found absurd ideas that made her laugh and wish that she'd been that creative and spontaneous.

With only a little bit of time left before her final deadline, Marinette had scrapped a lot of the romantic scenes and redid them. She tried to focus on comfortable romance, attempting to make it so she wouldn't influence a younger generation by convincing them that love was all about butterflies and never-ending spikes of their heartbeats. Sometimes, when she thought about how Adrien made her feel when he kissed her forehead or the top of her head, she grew embarrassed and frustrated when she couldn't incorporate the right feelings into words.

So, she asked Chloé for help.

It had been embarrassing at first—then again, asking any of her closest friends what their description of love was would've been.

“Love?” Chloé had repeated, raising her blond eyebrows. “It's about accepting someone for their faults; well, other than a bad haircut. It's not healthy to try and change someone, but atrocities like awful hair _can_ be fixed.”

It was an answer that was so fitting to her that Marinette had burst out into laughter, not deterred when her shoulder was lightly smacked.

As her editor, Alya had been exasperated when Marinette told her she was writing the romantic scenes again. The red-head had insisted that they were fine, that the words and feelings were conveyed as well as in any other novel that could've been targeted at a multi-age audience, but that wasn't enough for her.

However, her opinion as a friend was a positive one. Alya pitched in with agreeing that she although the plot wasn't revolved around romance the whole time, the characters were reaching a mature age and deserved to be portrayed in that way.

Adrien wasn't annoyed that she was too busy to meet up for dates. They continued to speak a lot when they could, even leaving messages when the other was asleep, and it was the constant string of supportive contact that was filled with genuine concern and feelings that had her smiling whenever she woke up and reached for her phone.

Marinette had cheered him on in return, sending silly videos that she'd found when he was on his break at work, although she was sad that she couldn't make it to his performances. That didn't mean she didn't support him, though; whenever he linked her to one of the videos of him that had been put online—from one of his friends filming—she gushed over it until he groaned and told her to stop from embarrassment.

She encouraged him even when he fretted that his hobby wasn't going to get him anywhere. Some days when he was performing outside, someone would have the gall to ask whether he was sad that he wasn't going to get recognised; either saying that he was too old or past the usual age for talent hat was picked up, and it would only cause him to wallow a bit later that evening.

“You're only twenty-six,” Marinette murmured, dumbfounded that someone had dared to say it to him in the first place. “I think you're an amazing person. It takes a lot of courage to perform in front of anyone, let alone stay outside during the different seasons because you're enjoying yourself.”

His voice was quiet as he asked, “Are you sure?”

“You're not worth any less because someone doesn't view you as successful,” she replied hotly, offended on his behalf. “If you're happy with yourself, that's all that matters.”

“Really?”

Although he couldn't see, she was nodding her head, causing her hair to bounce. “Absolutely. And just a warning—if someone says something like that when I'm there, I'm going to fight them to defend your honour. It'll be fisticuffs to the death.”

The laugh that escaped him was barely audible, but it was still there. “I'm happy with you,” Adrien admitted, affection clear in his tone. “You just—you have a way with words, you know?”

She choked.

Once her second book was finished, handed in with no more time to change any details that had bugged her, Marinette had sobbed in relief. There was a few months until it was released worldwide, and knowing that the cover would have a little note saying that she was a best-selling author had her heart pounding.

After she'd left the publishing house, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans, she made her way to the bookstore to surprise Adrien. When she got there, she could see him stacking the shelves in one of the aisles, standing out from how tall he was compared to the children in the area. His eyebrows were pinched together, a frown on his lips, and he looked so utterly serious that it was only ruined when he sneezed loudly, cupping his face with one hand while some of the children were startled by the loud noise.

“Adrien!” Marinette called out as she approached, watching as the neutral expression disappeared for one of genuine happiness in seconds, the smile lighting up his face. “Hey.”

He reached out as if to embrace her before realising he was in his workplace, straightening his arms out by his side. “I—hi,” he started, sounding surprised. “You're here.”

“Well, I don't get to see you working that often,” she pointed out sheepishly, eyes flickering to the stack of books behind him. “When do you finish?”

Checking the watch on his wrist, he dejectedly replied, “Just over two hours from now. I've already taken my break.”

She made a noise of understanding. “That's fine, I can wait! I'll just be in the café upstairs until you're done, okay?”

“Really?” Adrien questioned, just as surprised as before. “You don't have to get back to work?”

She grinned. “No, not today.”

And with that said, she ushered him back to doing his job, waving a bit too enthusiastically as she waltzed towards the recommendation shelf, already searching through her bag for the note that she'd scribbled her previous feedback on. As she'd done before, she brought out the different books on the shelf, specifically looking for the ones that had Adrien's name on the note.

The café wasn't too busy. Marinette ordered herself a drink and got a table by one of the windows that overlooked the street outside, taking out her newly purchased book and reading it slowly. All that there was left to do before her book was published was to agree on a cover for the front and the summary, as the title had been accepted before half the book had been planned. Alya was prompt and good at her job, so she wasn't too worried about anything getting through that she wasn't happy with.

Of course, with the somewhat free months before it was out, Chloé would undoubtedly ask whether she was considering doing interviews yet, or even a signing just to meet a few fans and give out her signature. The fact that anyone wanted her signature at all was baffling to her, then again, it was even weirder to see her book advertised on signs and on the internet, even more so when people spoke about it around her.

Adrien made her jump when he sat down across from her, a shy smile tugging on his lips. He'd put on a sweater again to hide the uniform, hopefully to stop anyone from asking him questions since his shift had finished.

“Hey,” she said again, putting away her possessions. “I didn't even realise the time.”

He hummed in agreement. “Yes, you were a bit distracted.”

“You're the one that recommended it,” Marinette pointed out in her own defence. “It's not my fault that I agree with everything you've made me read so far.”

Raising his eyebrows, Adrien replied, “I didn't ask you to read that.”

“The note was calling to me as soon as I saw your name,” she answered seriously, trying to keep herself from smiling. “It was fate.”

When they stood up, he easily slipped his hand into hers, squeezing gently. “Yes, I'm sure,” he humoured her, bypassing customers and directing them to the stairs. “As long as you don't confess your love to me in the feedback, I'm pretty sure my boss won't catch on that you're my girlfriend.”

“Even if we were married, I'd tell you if your taste sucks,” Marinette responded with a laugh. “I might be a bit confused that you'd like something I consider terrible, but I'd still be honest with you.”

Although he was surprised by her free time, he accepted when Marinette asked if he wanted to go out for dinner with her. She'd contemplated cooking at her home—and actually having him visit—before remembering how she needed to clean, so the two of them ended up walking to his home first.

While he showered and changed clothes, she was looking around the apartment, recognising the different areas that she'd seen in his pictures. It was nice to see it in person, especially when she saw the framed pictures that he had of friends and family on his shelves, filling up the blank spaces in the room.

When he emerged smelling of soap, hair damp but no droplets of water falling onto his casual clothing, Marinette grinned happily as she waved when they made eye contact. Adrien just rolled his eyes at her, not looking as though he felt awkward with her being in his home (she hoped as much—he had been the one to insist that she didn't need to meet back up with him later just for the two of them to go for dinner).

He was fine with her selecting where to eat until they got to the door of the restaurant, raising his eyebrows as he asked if she was sure once more.

It turned out that Nino was one of the waiters there. They weren't assigned him, but he'd made exaggerated facial expressions whenever he made eye contact with either of them, and she was sure that Alya would've been informed about their date within minutes. It wasn't as though they were keeping it a secret that they were dating; Marinette had just been busy, and Adrien had been kind enough not to complain about it.

They'd met up a few times since their first date, but the last time she'd turned up and continued to yawn in the middle of conversations, Adrien had scolded her and told her to sleep instead of forcing herself to come out. Any worries that their newly found relationship would've crumbled were gone as soon as she'd seen the soft look in his eyes, so that was why he'd insisted that she needed to finish her projects first.

“Are you sure you're finished and not just saying that?” Adrien questioned, eyes narrowed in accusation when she'd quietly admitted that she had some time off. “I wouldn't put it past them to tell you to take a break.”

She snorted. “It's a break for good work. I met the deadline, now I'm free.”

He accepted that answer until a few minutes later when he asked, “So, are you ever going to tell me about your mysterious job?”

Marinette faltered, missing her mouth entirely and smearing food on her cheek. She wiped it quickly, aware that heat had appeared on her face from embarrassment, but at least he wasn't laughing at her. When she looked up to see his reaction, he was looking at her fondly, as though she'd said something endearing rather than made a fool of herself.

It was quite amazing how he could make her feel good about herself, even when she'd fumbled and ended up doing something else entirely.

“Well,” she started, scrunching up the napkin and fiddling with it, “you've never actually asked.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Really?”

It wasn't a lie at all; whenever she'd bemoaned about her job, he'd never pushed her for additional information, choosing to cheer her up with other topics instead. When he babbled about his own jobs and the antics that appeared there, he didn't ask for hers since he knew that she worked alone, for the most part, from her home.

“Really,” she confirmed quietly, placing the napkin on the table.

“Oh,” he sounded thoughtful. “Am I allowed to ask now?”

She snickered. “You've never been forbidden, you're just too nice to stay on the depressing topic for too long.”

“If a job's that depressing to you, you should look into finding a new one,” he pointed out. “Especially with the hours they've had you doing lately. Are you sure it's worth it?”

Holding back a smile, Marinette tentatively admitted, “I've got a lot of time off now, so it's okay. I can do things as slow as I want for a few months without pressure—my boss will kick my ass if I don't do anything at all, though.”

Running a hand through his hair, he muttered, “Cryptic.”

“Okay, okay,” Marinette uttered, laughing at how displeased he looked. “I—I write books?”

It came out sounding like a question, and from the way his eyebrows furrowed, he picked up on that, too. “You're an author?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed bashfully, tucking some dark strands behind her ear. “I just finished writing my second book, that's why I've been so busy. I've got a couple of months before it's published.”

For a moment, Adrien just stared at her, as if he was expecting her to add anything else onto it. When it became clear that was all she had to say—as she reached for her drink to occupy herself and her fidgeting hands—he breathed out audibly and announced, “That's not at all what I was expecting.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“It's not as exciting as I thought, maybe?” the blond-haired male babbled, a hand moving to emphasise his words as he gestured to her. “It sounded like such a secret; you know, with the late hours and hidden meanings. I was starting to think you were some kind of hacker or a spy.”

”...What?” Marinette asked flatly.

He shrugged, a smile on his lips. “I just jumped to extreme conclusions, okay!” he insisted, not sounding sorry at all. “I've been trying to think of what it could be for a while. Nino doesn't even know, but he doesn't indulge my ideas since Alya's really tight-lipped about it.”

The thought of Alya keeping it from both of their boyfriends had her amused, even more so when she thought about the pestering that must've happened. Marinette ended up laughing aloud, Adrien joining in when he realised that she wasn't put off by his words.

“You're ridiculous, did you know that?” she breathed, wiping at her damp eyes. “Absolutely ridiculous, why are we even dating?”

He grinned, showing his teeth. “You finally gave into my charms, that's all.”

“You're a dork,” she accused fondly. “And since you've probably tried to pester her in person, I'll be honest now and tell you that Alya's my editor.”

At that, he looked visibly surprised. “ _Really_?” he questioned, voice coming out louder than he expected, drawing some attention to the two of them. “I just—isn't it weird to work with your friend?”

“It's how we met,” Marinette admitted. “Chloé, too. She's my manager.”

“All these big titles are making me think you're really important,” he mused, green-coloured eyes looking at her from head to chest—as far as he could see due to the table in the way—before he rested his elbows on the table and stared at her. “Is there anything you have to tell me?”

She wetted her lips. “You've probably read my book.”

He didn't even falter. “I've read a lot of books. There's a lot of downtime between customers sometimes.”

“Well, I don't know if you disliked it or not, but it's never been on the recommendation shelf because of you since we've met—maybe it was before, I don't know,” she rambled, trying to find the right words to tell him. As self-conscious as she always was about her work, he wasn't the type to make fun of her for it; if anything, Adrien would surely praise her for the achievements and recognition she'd gained, something that would make her flush. “It's just—I'm pretty shy about my work, so I use a different name.”

“Are you trying to give me hints?” Adrien questioned, tilting his head quizzically. “If so, I feel I should warn you that I've been told that I'm painfully oblivious. I feel that might be an exaggeration, but I don't know.”

Groaning, she rubbed at her face quickly before she dropped her hands to her lap. “Okay,” Marinette said slowly, taking in a deep breath. “I'm—”

“No, no,” he interjected, arms stretched outwards as he shook his hands and head in time. “Don't tell me, I feel like I should guess this.”

She stared at him incredulously. “You want to _guess_? Your guess about my job was me being a spy.”

Adrien huffed. “It's a perfectly valid guess.”

“No, it's really not,” she retorted with a roll of her eyes. “Look at me. I'd be absolutely awful at sneaking around, and the most illegal activity I do is torrent music or films to watch. I have enough trouble trying to plug in wires to my laptop, let alone hacking into someone else's.”

“That's _your_ opinion,” he pointed out, sounding amused. “Isn't it nice that someone thinks you're capable of being a criminal?”

She spluttered, “You haven't even said if I'm a potentially good criminal or not yet.”

The smile met his eyes as he laughed and said, “Well, if you were bad, then you would've been caught already.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence,” Marinette muttered with a laugh. “Are you sure you really want to guess this? You'll be trying for weeks.”

Adrien propped his chin up on his palm. “How about you give me until your second book comes out?”

She nodded, thinking about the upcoming months. There wasn't that long left, so she easily agreed, “I can do that, okay.”

-x-

With the added free time, Marinette was able to relax a lot more. She went to finish her parents for a week, helping them around their pâtisserie and staying in her old bedroom before going back to her home. She woke up earlier in the mornings, crawling out of bed with bleary eyes before she ventured outside, sometimes to watch Adrien as he performed when the weather wasn't too bad. After he'd gotten a cold for a week due to staying outside when it was raining lightly, Marinette made a point of checking to see whether he'd stopped quickly enough or not.

Sometimes she visited the bookstore while he was working, sitting in the café and reading until his shift was over. They visited each other's homes more—Adrien even going to her own, marvelling at how it was missing personal touches such as cushions that she'd always hesitated to buy—and started to stay over at nights, making it so their relationship was a lot closer than it had been when she was too preoccupied with work.

With the challenge that he'd given himself, when she walked into the bookstore, he sometimes held a book up and caught her attention across the room, asking her with his expression if it was hers. As he hadn't asked the genre or even what year it had been published, or any hints at all, she had to smile and shake her head a lot, just to see him groan and place the book back down. The only things he knew was that he'd used a different name and that it had been on the recommended shelf previously.

Another part of their relationship that she liked was that he preferred to stay in. Marinette didn't feel the need to dress up or attempt to impress him, and she didn't feel uncomfortable when she let him into her home when she was in casual clothing with messy hair. When she woke up in the mornings beside him, she didn't hastily smooth her hair and attempt to wipe her mouth to make sure that she was presentable, and it was so utterly sweet that he seemed to feel the same way. When he looked at her with mused hair, tired eyes and a soft smile on his lips, she felt that she couldn't imagine wanting anything else more.

It was nice that they were friend beforehand. Marinette hadn't made a fool of herself by attempting to flirt with him or impress him; he somewhat knew what he was getting into, which meant their relationship didn't have any ridiculous expectations. He already knew about what she did with her time, her closest friends that she spoke to, and he knew those things about him in return.

Having Alya and Nino dating—two of their closest friends—made it a lot easier, too. The four of them had gone out to the cinema together and almost found themselves kicked out after Marinette and Nino couldn't stop laughing at the ridiculous scenes they were shown. Chloé seemed to like Adrien, and she showed her support by turning up to the next time that Adrien performed at a pub, begrudgingly complimenting him afterwards in the most passive aggressive fashion.

The first time she'd actually sat beside Adrien when he was playing his guitar in the safety of his home, the light dim from the lamp across the room and his laptop muted in front of him, she'd idly what she'd done to deserve someone so loving. He just—he was everything that she could've wanted. The flaws and imperfections made her like him more, and seeing the private sides of him that he didn't show to others had her swallowing thickly, brushing the hair from his eyes when they were in the middle of a sensitive conversation.

When she'd thought about relationships in the past, she'd never expected to find herself with someone that made her feel just so comfortable. When they made fun of each other, it was never with the intention of hurt. Sure, they had disagreements a few times, but they didn't turn into large arguments that left the two of them fuming; they waited for the other to calm down before they spoke about what happened, honestly apologising about the misunderstanding or difference in opinions.

She liked him, truly.

Whether it was an evening lazily playing games together, meeting up with friends outside, or a random skill-building class that they thought sounded interesting, spending time with him was something that she looked forward to.

They were easily able to bounce ideas off of each other; Marinette helped him with songs, and he tried to help her with character designs and plot twists from the little information, making him a helping force that made Alya raise her eyebrows in surprise the next time she looked over her notes and plans.

From the calluses on his fingersto the blond on the end of his eyelashes, Marinette grew acquainted with his body slowly. She started to know which parts made him laugh or squirm uncomfortably, the certain patches of skin that had him shuddering in pleasure when she used her mouth, and the whole experience was always so easy-going and non-pressuring that he wasn't offended if she ever fumbled and ended up laughing at herself.

Adrien didn't complain if anything was too sloppy, or even if her teeth pressed against his arousal when they were intimate. As they'd grown to stay over at each other's places every few days, whenever she was sure that she wasn't being a nuisance, it wasn't unusual for hands to linger, touches to grow prolonged and soft when they climbed into bed.

The first time Adrien had kissed her neck with suggestive intentions, she'd been so startled that she'd dropped what she'd been holding, turning around to stare at him with wide eyes. He'd laughed until tears appeared in his eyes, wheezing out apologies as he pulled her close into a hug while she groaned in embarrassment, but it had only made her like him more for the ridiculous reaction he gave in response.

So, she tried to surprise him right back. When she'd excused herself from the room, making it so he was paying attention to his phone or something else, she tried to creep back in quietly so she could wrap her arms around his shoulder, but the first two times he'd heard her footsteps and flashed her a bright smile that was too sincere for her intentions.

She'd given up after that, especially when she realised that he wasn't kidding about being oblivious. There was a time when they were out with some of their friends, and she'd looked to see his fringe was damp against his hair from dancing, only to be hit with a feeling of lust. Adrien hadn't really noticed her looks; he'd assumed that any of her touches were for dancing purposes, even when she'd been terribly awkward at the beginning of the night before drinks were involved, and it had taken her whispering loudly into his ear that they should leave that he'd understood at all.

For him being so oblivious, she didn't mind it.

“I've come to the conclusion that you wouldn't read your own book, but you would _own_ it,” Adrien mused one evening when they were standing around her kitchen, alternating between who was cooking every few minutes. “Right?”

She didn't even need to look over her shoulder to see his surely smug smile. “That's probably true for every author, Adrien. I'd like for you to find one that doesn't own their own book.”

“And it has to be good because it was recommended,” he continued on, not put off by her dry reply. “Is it cheating if I look through all the books you own?”

“I'd just outright tell you if I didn't know it would make you sad,” she muttered. “What are you even gaining from this?”

A gleeful laugh escaped him. “Bragging rights, of course,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Nino and Alya are betting on whether I'm going to be right or not.”

Marinette snorted. “Aren't you already involved in a bet at work?”

Pushing her aside so she could wash her hands while he took over easily, Adrien continued on, “Well, that's been narrowed down to me and two others so far. You should've seen some of their faces when they realised they were kicked out—it was _glorious_.”

“You're living through other people's misery,” she accused without any heat. “Doesn't that make you a bad person?”

“It makes me a wonderful employee, thank you,” he countered, bumping his shoulder lightly against hers before he retreated back to the stove. “I'm starting to think you don't approve of my work ethic.”

“Well,” she started purposely slow. “It does seem a bit unprofessional that you have a stack of books at the counter just to flash at me when I walk in. What does your boss say about that?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “They're books customers had second thoughts about, of course. I'm just slow at putting them away.”

“I hope you get fired.”

Adrien gasped. “You just want to me to be your sugar baby.”

He was ridiculous, really. After he'd found out about her job, Marinette had shyly admitted that she'd been awfully worried in the beginning, thinking that she'd have to go back to part-time jobs and struggling for money. He'd understood completely—and even told her about the woes of his previous jobs that he'd done in his late teens—and had only asked whether she was financially comfortable enough when they'd gone out and she'd offered to pay.

He didn't take advantage of her, and she didn't try to make him pay for everything either. Sometimes, when he tried to insist that he should pay since he'd picked the place or since it was to cheer her up, he flipped a coin to help them choose after she'd tried to say they could go half. Marinette always ended up laughing when the coin ended up on the floor or on either of their plates, causing the two of them to just stare at each other for a few moments.

It was nice to know that they were together because they genuinely liked each other. There was no ulterior motives or using, something that she'd always been wary about in the past, and that was another reason why she treasured him.

After dinner, when she was picking up their plates to take to the dishwasher, Marinette pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

He made a noise of surprise, never quite used to the sudden show of her affection. She wondered whether his previous relationships hadn't been as intimate or if he'd just hadn't received such gestures before; Adrien was fond of kissing her head in the mornings before he crawled out of bed, or just touching her shoulder or back briefly as he walked past. It was the little things that made her feel loved, and she never hesitated to do them in return.

When he kissed her lips softly afterwards, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist and pulling her closer as she rested her hands on his chest, she could feel his smile, and she knew that he could feel hers, too. It was sweet and lethargic; with Adrien rested against the countertop, her leaning into him as she tilted her head upwards to meet him halfway.

She could feel the warmth of his breath across her skin, adored the sound of him breathing in unsteadily between each movement of his lips, and the feel of his body pressed against her. Leaning closer into him, Marinette gently traced her tongue across his lower lip, overjoyed when he easily opened his mouth as hands dipping beneath her shirt to trace her newly exposed skin.

The kiss became erratic as their breaths became louder, his moans muffled by as one of her hands teasingly trailed lower, nails pressing down so he could feel them through the material of his shirt. She palmed him through his trousers in time with the inconsistent rhythm for their mouths, already hinting at where she wanted their actions to take them.

The hands that had been underneath her shirt when to her backside, squeezing in appreciation, purposely slow as he did so. Marinette broke away from the kiss, lips damp and their mingled breaths warm as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes, a smug smile present as she caught the the colouring along his cheekbones. Her grin widened as she cupped his arousal through his jeans, pressing down roughly as she moved slightly, causing a bit of friction that had him biting back a groan.

“You're teasing,” Adrien accused, clearing his voice afterwards.

She batted her eyelashes, brushing her hand against him once more. “I'm not the one that started this in the kitchen again.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “I burnt a pan _one_ time.”

Marinette took a step back slowly, making it so they were keeping their hands to themselves as she smoothed out the material of her shirt primly. “I've since been convinced this is a sacred place,” she explained, trying not to laugh at his incredulous expression. “So, I'll be in the bedroom if you need me.”

As she started to walk away, muffling her laughter by putting a hand over her mouth, Adrien called after her, “Are you seriously banning us from having sex in the kitchen?”

She ignored him in favour of reaching for the bottom of her shirt. When she entered her bedroom the clothes were placed onto her desk chair as she discarded her underwear, smiling as she heard his footsteps following after her. Her brassiere was the last to come off, and he appeared in her doorway as it fell onto her desk, staring openly in surprise.

“Honestly, I just wasn't looking forward to the cold on my skin,” she admitted without shame, settling herself on the edge of the bed. “It's a bit of a turn off, don't you think?”

Adrien's eyes flickered from her body up to her face, cracking a smile that showed one dimple. “We're stuck with being vanilla because you hate the cold?” he questioned, sounding amused as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, not folding it before it was placed beside her own. “I don't know whether to be disappointed or not.”

“Considering that the last time we tried on your couch I ended up with the remote digging into me, I think we should stick to being comfortable for now,” Marinette answered, gazing at him in appreciation as the rest of his clothing was discarded. “I like associating you with pillows and other nice things.”

He snorted. “Are you calling me soft?”

She raised her gaze up slowly to look him in the eyes, grin reaching her own. “I can only see one part of you that isn't soft for me.”

“You are awful,” Adrien accused, kneeling down in front of her, hand running through the tresses of her hair to pull her down to place a chaste kiss to her lips. “You condemn me for making such jokes.”

A shiver ran through her as his hands slowly ran down her body, skimming past her intimate parts to caress her knees, gently nudging them apart so he could be between them. Marinette made a noise of approval as she shifted closer to the edge of the bed, running her fingers through his soft hair. She could feel his breath against her skin as he placed kisses along her thighs, teasing her by not going exactly where she wanted him.

As he bit down lightly, she tightened the hold she had on his hair. “You're the one teasing now,” she accused quietly, loosening the grip immediately and smoothing over the tresses, enjoying the feel of them in her hand.

Adrien's response was to finally touch her in her most intimate place; she felt as his lips pressed against her arousal, not quite committing as he kissed beside her protrusion, instead running his hands along her thighs in a caressing fashion, one that had her closing her eyes from the softness. It was a show of trust, too; she wasn't afraid to expose herself to him, especially not when he rewarded her by taking her sensitive nub and sucking gently.

As her feet were on the floor, she was able to move her hips slightly to meet his movements, breath coming out audible and fast as he continued to flick tongue out to please her, not at all complaining as his blond hair was mused. Marinette moaned quietly as the spiralling heat built between her legs, the pulse needy and demanding between where he was paying particular attention, and it was a strangled gasp that escaped her as he slipped a finger within her.

It was the feel of his breath against her damp skin and the way he was gentle throughout it all that had her heart hammering within her chest—combining that with the sloppy rhythm of his finger as he reached within her, scissoring her lazily as he was mostly focused on using his mouth, caused her to move erratically in an attempt to further the pleasure.

A second finger joined, stretching her gently in a way that was driving her mad, and Marinette made a noise of frustration as he slowly pulled away soon after, placing a chaste kiss beside her cleft before he pulled back.

Her face was already hot before he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Stop looking smug,” she accused, leaning down to press her lips to his, eyes quickly falling closed as she pulled him closer.

Marinette supposed it was how he usually felt when they were standing up; having to lean down to meet her halfway to stop the height difference being a real issue, and just thinking of that caused her to abruptly stop to laugh, not at all embarrassed of herself.

“I—sorry,” she stuttered out, covering her mouth with her hand, not at all hiding her smile.

As she expected, he wasn't offended. Adrien simply rolled his eyes, sharing a smile with her as he quickly went back to his clothing to reach for a foil packet, the sound filling the room while she calmed herself down. As lovely as he was, she didn't want a repeat of the last time she'd started laughing midway through being intimate (he'd looked at her incredulously before succumbing to laughter himself, though he didn't let her forget it for a while).

“You're lucky you're cute,” he chastised, the comment late as he gestured towards the bed with his hand.

Marinette took the hint and happily fell back against the pillows, perhaps a tad too dramatically. When he climbed onto the mattress to join her, she happily spread her legs so he could slot between them, cheekily wrapping them around his waist and pulling him closer so he almost stumbled, only just catching himself as he put a hands on either side of her head. He looked down at her fondly, the intimate details of his face clear in the lighting from the close distance, and she didn't hesitate to lean up and press a kiss to his jawline.

Moving her hips purposely to brush against his arousal with a purposeful look when she pulled back and rested against the pillows again, it was a matter of moments before one of his hands caressed her hips, gently nudging the tip within her tentatively. He was giving her the chance to pull away and initiate foreplay, if she so wished to again, but she pulled him closer with her legs, a groan of satisfaction escaping as he was fully sheathed within her.

There was a few seconds of them simply catching their breaths, allowing her to became accustomed to the intrusion. It wasn't painful nor uncomfortable, though, but she still had to be the one to urge him to move first by wrapping her arms around his neck, lazily dragging her nails against his skin.

“It's okay,” she murmured, shifting her hips in hopes of friction.

She watched as he swallowed.

It was hesitant at first; there was no rhythm to his thrusts, no set pace for either of them to follow, but her eyes still fell shut as she moved her hips to try and meet him halfway, a mixture of gasps and quiet moans escaping her when the pleasure started to build. The hand on her hip was digging into her skin, pulling her closer every time he rut against her, and the sensation as his skin continued to press against her protrusion and caused friction was maddening.

Soon, she was holding onto his hair far too tightly, legs starting to protest from how she was holding her hips up, but the feeling was more than worth it to ignore it. The sounds of intertwined breaths and their slick skin meeting filled up any of the silence in the room, and she was idly glad that the weather was cold enough that the window wasn't often, meaning she didn't have to worry about keeping her voice down too much.

The pace grew somewhat frantic; the noises escaping her had become breathier, indicating that she was close—a sound that he'd become familiar with—and she knew from the way he was moving that he was, too, even though it would surely hurt his wrist afterwards from putting too much pressure on it.

Her hair was damp, the strands of her fringe sticking to her face which felt just as warm as where their bodies were connected. When the building pleasure reached her breaking point, her muscles tightened and she shuddered, fingernails digging into him and surely creating little half-moon shapes into his skin.

Adrien had stopped as soon as he'd realised what had happened, giving her a few moments to recover. Rather than continue to rut against her and seek his own release, he placed a kiss onto her sweaty cheek before he pulled out.

She'd gotten her breathing somewhat under control when he'd discarded the protection, and she didn't hesitate to sit up beside him, placing her hand on his slick arousal, pumping him slowly.

A groan escaped him from the sensation, and she knew that he was probably still close. Using her free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and shoulder in hopes of it not getting in the way, she leaned down and placed her mouth briefly around the tip before pulling back, licking her lips quickly. She engulfed him boldly, feeling the stretch of her mouth as she bobbed her head consistently, hand playing with the base of his arousal in a way that she knew he liked.

As she'd done with him earlier, he wound his fingers in her hair, as if guiding her along as she sucked him, her motivation being the noises that left him. She could feel the moisture on her lips as she moved, sometimes clumsily catching her teeth along the edge of his flesh—Adrien didn't complain, though, and judging by the way that his grip tightened, she had to assume that he liked it. It was always nice to hear him moan, especially when she managed to find something that he liked, and knowing that she was the one that caused it was reassuring.

Marinette didn't have to continue for long; before there was an ache in her jaw, Adrien took in a strangled breath, tensing against her, and she willed herself to relax, swallowing before running her tongue over the tip, clearing up any of the smears that were left.

After taking a moment to collect himself—which included pushing away the hair from his forehead while she wiped her mouth—she hadn't really expected him to say anything romantic, but she certainly hadn't expected him to ask, “You don't write erotica, do you?”

She spluttered. “ _Erotica_?”

“I-I'm just wondering,” he hastily explained, green eyes wide as he touched the nape of his neck. “I mean—it's possible, right?”

Crossing her arms, Marinette pointed out, “I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to put erotica on the recommended shelf. I've only seen a few books with really brief sex scenes.”

“I—right,” he agreed, smiling sheepishly. “I just had to check, right?”

She laughed, a sincere smile on her lips as she looked at him. “You do know you only have a few weeks left to guess, right?”

He knew full well that she'd finished everything that she needed to do it for it, meaning everything was out of her hands from that point on yet, but he still look surprised and asked, “Shit, really?”

“You're hopeless, Adrien. There's no way you're going to guess right,” Marinette murmured, shaking her head fondly. “Do you even know what Nino and Alya bet on you?”

Adrien's grin was wide. “I'm pretty sure it's the rights to naming their first child.”

-x-

From the success of her first book, along with her reluctance to reveal her actual face and identity for interviews, Chloé eventually convinced her to sell one hundred signed copies of her new book. When she'd agreed, she'd only been relieved that she wouldn't have to write personalised messages and meet fans in person, but then she'd realised that along with writing a name one hundred times, she also had to make up a signature.

Alya and Chloé had helped her perfect it. The three of them had spent an evening in Chloé's home—the largest of the three of them—and scribbled in different notebooks, trying to come up with the best one. Marinette wasn't experienced at writing with specific fonts, especially not making them letters appear elegant or even pretty, so her attempts had looked mediocre at first.

Adrien had simply raised his eyebrows when she'd showed him the dents in her fingers from holding a pen too long after all of them had been signed that day, not even flinching as she proclaimed, “I hate my life.”

With her cheering him, Marinette managed to persuade him to create his own channel to record and upload songs, rather than having a few random performances uploaded by others throughout the year. Adrien asked her opinion on what songs to choose, finding it too hard to try and make the selection himself, and she was always honest whenever he asked. She was just happy that he was staying inside, where it was warm, rather than the jarring cold of the winter outside, instead of busking when it was a particularly awful day.

That didn't mean she stopped supporting him, though. Marinette still appeared when he had performances, no longer leaving change in his case and instead just purchasing food and drink and placing it beside him, sometimes being brave enough to kiss his cheek before darting back into the crowd. It was nice to see that he was able to attract an audience no matter the weather, though there was a large difference when the averages of each season were compared.

“Are you nervous?” Adrien asked suddenly when they were having breakfast one morning.

The question had been prompted by her saying that she'd received a message from Alya acting as her editor, rather than her friend, she supposed. “I'm a ball of anxious energy almost all the time,” she muttered bitterly, taking a large gulp of her drink. The mug made a noise as it was placed back onto the table. “You're going to have to be more specific.”

“You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “about the book?”

It was a week away from being sold. “I should probably warn you now that there's a very high chance that I'm going to burst into tears randomly for about a month,” she announced after taking in a deep breath. “So, yes; dreadfully nervous.”

“It can't be that bad,” Adrien smoothed, sounding as though he was talking to a child. When she glared at him, he only grinned. “You wouldn't have been allowed to publish another one if it was terrible, right?”

She snorted. “You sure know how to compliment a girl.”

His dimples showed as he smiled. “I think that's the only reason you're with me some days.”

As the days passed, he still guessed her name. Marinette refused to give him hints, though he did look embarrassed by his choices a few times when she'd burst out into laughter. It didn't help that Alya was refusing to tell him what publisher he worked for—to help narrow it down—and from the lack of personal information that was on Marinette's blurb for Bridgette Cheng, there wasn't much that could connect the two of them.

So, when it came to the day when she knew her book would be sold on the shelves of stores and online, she rolled out of bed with a large smile. Adrien was working that morning—for it _was_ morning still—which prompted her not to message him to say that she was awake, choosing to surprise him instead.

She already had a copy of her book, of course. She'd hidden it away so he wouldn't see it when he'd came over, but that wasn't enough to stop her from seeing it in person. From her previous experiences, she'd tucked away a small packet of tissues in the pocket of her coat, slipping on her hat and earmuffs as she braved the cold streets as she made her way to the familiar bookstore.

Within the display window that showed the latest and most popular books that were sold—all placed there to attract customers—she saw her two books side-by-side with a large poster above them, the author name in bold and standing out. She couldn't resist taking out her phone and taking pictures of it, sending them to her two knowing friends with multiple exclamation marks.

After a longer time than necessary, she went inside. Adrien wasn't behind the counter or tending to customers within view of the front door, but she wasn't concerned about that. She walked through the aisles, choking up instantly when her gaze landed on the large pile of familiar books. A lot of them had been moved and rotated, touched and purchased despite the fact that it wasn't even noon, and she made an embarrassing sound as she buried her face in her hands.

If she ever met with fans, she was absolutely sure that would've been her reaction a large amount of the time.

Marinette grabbed one of the hardback copies, clutching it to her chest after she'd wiped at her damp eyes and went towards the till. The queue wasn't too long, but when she got to the employee, their eyes had flickered down to their desk briefly before snapping back at her.

“You're Marinette, aren't you?”

And with that, it became apparent that Adrien had asked his co-workers not to serve her that day. As much as she wanted to complain, especially when she saw the ridiculous photograph that the employee showed to her briefly, she chose to message him instead to see whether he was taking a break.

He was.

Marinette wandered over to the employee-only door as instructed, leaning against the wall and fiddling with the earmuffs that she'd left around her neck, wondering whether to be annoyed at him or not. There was a large chance that he'd figured it out for himself—and didn't want her buying her own book, somehow—but there wasn't a need for such a grand scale reveal if that was the case.

He appeared quickly, indents clear on his cheeks as he stepped outside the door, not at all hiding the gift-wrapped present in one of his hands.

Her first reaction was to blurt, “It's not my birthday.”

“Am I only allowed to buy you things on your birthday?” Adrien queried, raising his eyebrows so they almost disappeared beneath the messy strands of his fringe. “You didn't even tell me when you woke up.”

She grinned. “About half an hour ago? I barely got any sleep because I was excited.”

“Of course,” he agreed, fondness clear in his voice. “Why don't you open this, then?”

Bemused, she did so. As she'd expected, the familiar cover greeted her; it was a hardback copy—her favourite, as he knew—and she took her time turning it around to see the quotes on the back and taking in the addition that proclaimed her to be a best-selling author.

“You didn't have to get me this,” she murmured thickly, not taking her eyes away from the book. That was why he'd swayed his co-workers not to serve her at the tills, a surprise that he knew that she'd appreciate, no matter how dramatic it was. “I-I really appreciate it.”

“I wanted to,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You haven't checked inside yet.”

She didn't know what she was expecting, not really. Marinette opened the cover slowly in case something fell out, but it was after turning past the first blank page that she stilled, staring down at the ink that was shown there. Surely, that wasn't how he wanted to reveal that he'd known and had been making jokes about who she could be for weeks—

“It's signed,” she croaked, taking in the signature that she'd perfected after a few glasses of wine.

His finger tapped against the page, pointing to where she'd placed a pen only a few weeks ago. “I don't know whether you've got one of these, but I managed to get my hands on one for you.”

That—that didn't sound like he'd figured it out at all. Marinette looked up at him in surprise, lips parting in silence as she tried to determine whether he was joking or not. From the soft smile on his lips and the affectionate way that he was looking at her, not at all showing like the was going to burst out in laughter, she had to come to the conclusion that he'd thought it was a sweet gift for one of Bridgette Cheng's fans.

A bubble of laughter escaped her. She almost missed the confused expression that appeared for him, but she quickly managed to get herself under control, hoping that she didn't hurt his feelings from the bizarre turn of events.

“I love it,” she murmured, closing the cover and holding it against her chest, as she'd done so with the previous one she'd been rejected from buying. “It's—it's very sweet of you, Adrien. How did you know I'd be in today?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Wishful thinking?”

“I—” Marinette cut herself off, furrowing her eyes as she stared at him once more. “I can't tell whether you're fucking with me or not right now.”

For a moment, he looked surprised before his gaze flickered between the book and her. “I'm not going to take it away from you?” he offered, sounding a tad confused. “That would be a really dick move.”

She wetted her lips.

“Adrien,” she started softly. “You do know my book's out today, right?”

A look of realisation appeared. “ _Oh_ ,” he breathed, suddenly looking guilty as he grimaced and placed a hand at the nape of his neck. “I—sorry? I was too busy wrapping that before you got here to get any guesses ready to show you.”

From the way he sounded just so sincere, looking at her apologetically, Marinette wondered whether it was possible not to feel love for him. Even though he was oblivious at times, she dislike him for it. She breathed out audibly through her nose, lips curling into a fond smile as she took in the way he'd averted his eyes for a moment, not quite meeting her gaze.

“You're a dork,” she proclaimed quietly. “Truly, you are.”

He didn't look bewildered. “Not quite sure whether that's the right reaction to have, but I'll take it.”

“This is my book.”

He blinked. “Eh?”

“This is my second book,” Marinette elaborated, pointing towards the surname that was shown. “Dupain-Cheng got changed into Cheng to make it less recognisable.”

He looked adorably confused for a moment, staring at the name displayed as his eyebrows furrowed before he groaned. “ _That's_ —”

“Well, you did warn me that you're oblivious,” she interrupted cheekily, not at all deterred when he narrowed his eyes jokingly at her. “I think it's cute, actually. It makes me feel smart, too.”

Adrien huffed out a laugh, crossing his arms as he protested, “Just because I didn't have a secret identity for you to work out!”

“You're the one that wanted to work it out,” Marinette pointed out, moving closer so she could rest her face against his chest, a clumsy version of an embrace that had neither of them wrapping their arms around each other. “I really do like the gift.”

She could feel it as he laughed. “Doesn't that make you a narcissist?”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭*♥


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